


Casual Casual Easy

by voleuse



Category: Veronica Mars - Fandom
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-03-06
Updated: 2006-03-06
Packaged: 2017-10-04 07:21:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voleuse/pseuds/voleuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>I'm getting wise and I'm feeling so bohemian like you</em>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Casual Casual Easy

**Author's Note:**

> Ten drabbles set during S2, with spoilers through 2.13. Title, summary, and headings adapted from the Dandy Warhol's "Bohemian Like You."

_i. what's wrong with it today_

Trina hates Neptune. At least, that's what she tells her therapist every second Thursday of the month. She tells her costars she misses it, sometimes. She tells the tabloids nothing at all, distracts them with winks and scandals.

Trina tells her agent she doesn't care one way or the other, but that's where her brother is, and a good sister checks up on a brother once in a while. Even if he's not her _real_ brother, and even if they don't get along all the time.

Her agent tells her, _Good, let that slip in a few interviews_.

She does.

_ii. maybe I'll come and have a look_

Jackie wants to pretend she's above it all. Above the envy, the gossip, and the _bitch_ scrawled in red ink over her locker door. Above the multiple scratches along the length of her car, and the way she can never make it through lunch without getting her drink knocked into her lap.

She used to be above it all, because she's prettier, richer, and smarter than everybody else. She knew it, and they knew it. That's just the way it worked.

Now, she swallows her pride and sits with Veronica (and sometimes Wallace) at lunch, and settles for being equal.

_iii. see where looking pretty cool will get you_

Wallace doesn't have a lot of time to play Joe Hardy, not between classes, and practice, and teaching his brother to act like a man. The third part's optional, but he wants to step up. It makes his mom smile, and she doesn't smile enough lately.

He doesn't tell Veronica about that, because it would break their pact about never talking about their parents. That would then invoke the second pact, in which they stab each other's eyes out to prevent the mental imagery.

Instead, he cracks a joke, checks his watch, and tells her he'll do whatever he can.

_iv. you guys are pretty new_

Kendall never apologizes for anything.

An apology would mean she's sorry about something, and she isn't. She has fun, and if said fun keeps a roof over her head and Jimmy Choos on her feet, so much the better.

Cassidy calls her to another business meeting. She struts into the restaurant, catalogs every person that turns to stare.

A couple of old men, a handful of married ones, but there's a brunette in a power suit sitting by the window. Maybe.

She slides into the seat across from Cassidy, pats him on the cheek, and orders a glass of wine.

_v. something that you'll really love_

Weevil gets back to the house past midnight, shutting the door as quietly as he can. He thinks he's in the clear, because it's dead silent and dark.

Then the kitchen light snaps on, and he winces.

"Eli?" His _abuelita_ crosses her arms, takes a long look at him. At the bruises on his face, and the way his shoulders hunch. "_Mijo_."

He nods, slumps into a chair. She touches his face gently, clucking her tongue. "Should I ask?" she mutters, pressing cool fingers against his black eye.

"It's nothing," he grumbles.

She presses her lips together, and fetches ice.

_vi. and I'm feeling so bohemian like you_

Mac isn't sure how it started, but instead of doing the dishes, she somehow gets stuck in a crouton versus meatball food fight with her brother.

Mom and Dad are still clearing the ice cream off the table. It isn't until a crouton wings Dad in the shoulder that they're discovered.

For a second, Mac feels like she's seven years old again. Her brother shuffles his feet, and she'd feel sorry for him if there wasn't marinara sauce in her left ear.

There's a long silence, then Dad laughs, and Mom gets him in the face with the whipped cream.

_vii. you broke up that's too bad_

It's been a while since Duncan changed diapers.

Astrid helped a lot, but in a couple of weeks, she was gone again. It's Duncan and Lilly on their own.

It's kind of amazing, just watching the baby blink, and yawn, and cry. She's small and perfect and _his_. Even when he's holding his breath, trying not to smell her dirty diapers, or wiping her vomit off everything, he's ecstatic.

He hasn't felt anything so strongly in years. Not love, not hate, not joy. Sometimes, he thinks about calling Veronica from a payphone to tell her about it.

He never does.

_viii. he always pays the rent_

There's an empty place in Cassidy's heart that he doesn't ever acknowledge. It's stupid and emo and pathetic, and he believes he's better than that.

So he takes his checks, e-mails his mom, and stops wondering if his dad still has that condo in the Cayman Islands. He hires two accountants and a housekeeper, and makes sure Dick doesn't have complete access to his trust fund.

He studies every night, gets his ass kicked in Madden, and then pores over stock reports and fixed-lifetime funds.

Once in a while, Mac pings him online, and that's when he remembers to laugh.

_ix. get bent about sleeping on the couch_

The suite is empty, and quiet, save for the hum of the television set on mute.

Logan closes the door and leans back, smirks to the empty air.

"I'm starting to form some serious abandonment issues," he muses to himself. "Perhaps I can fill the void with meaningless sex." His cell phone rings, and he checks the caller ID.

His court-appointed therapist. He lets it ring.

"And isn't crack popular with the young people these days?"

There are takeout menus on the coffee table, along with the listings for pay-per-view.

Logan slouches on the sofa and clicks over to Cinemax.

_x. it's you that I want so please_

Veronica isn't sure when she became prima bakerina in her family. She tries to dissect the obsession, but all she remembers is pouting when her mom wouldn't let her eat the cookie dough raw. Her dad isn't so picky, but then again, he prefers Dunkin' Donuts to Krispy Kreme.

It's soothing, though, the way she can measure out a cup of shortening, a cup and a half of sugar, two eggs, and various condiments, and bam! Cookie delight.

Minimal mess, minimal fuss, and everything always turns out exactly the way she wants.

She resists self-psychoanalysis and enjoys the sugar rush.


End file.
